


Rescue

by mogwai_do



Series: Home is Where the Hearts are [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s01e13 The Parting of the Ways, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 22:37:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mogwai_do/pseuds/mogwai_do
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack was rescued then saved, or perhaps it was the other way around.</p><p>Takes place after The Parting of the Ways</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rescue

Jack was cold; he had been for days. He'd long ago given up trying to rub a little warmth into his bare arms; the chill was bone deep now and he was almost used to it. He heard another rumble echo up from deep within the station, but he didn't bother to check its source. The first two days had been spent exploring the boundaries of his new home and hunting for supplies, starting at every new sound. The damage the Daleks had done was extensive and the power was slowly fading; he presumed there was a leak of some sort and could only be grateful that the reactor hadn't just exploded. Much as he preferred the idea of going out with a bang instead of a slow death in a dim tomb, he couldn't help holding on. A small voice in the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously familiar kept telling him that a blaze of glory was all well and good, but not when the alternative was life. He didn't dare hope for Rose and the Doctor's return, as devastating as their departure had been, he couldn't allow himself a glimpse of that light, even if it was all he was hanging on for.

In his heart of hearts he knew they would never abandon him if they knew he was still alive - but that was the catch - he hadn't been. Jack couldn't blame them for never wanting to see Satellite 5 again, he wouldn't were their positions reversed. That core of faith surprised him, he'd thought he was more cynical than that, but then he'd seen them fight and risk everything for people they didn't know - you couldn't see that and not be affected.

He was too cold to cry or so he'd thought, only the scalding tears on his cheeks told him otherwise. He curled closer around himself, trying to conserve what little warmth he had, trying to convince himself that the pain in his chest was just a phantom ache left behind by his death. He'd never hurt like this before, had thought it was beyond him in fact - Rose and the Doctor had taught him otherwise in a remarkably short space of time.

He'd grown up in a state institution, one of many, where children were farmed out because the parents had neither the time nor the interest in raising them. He'd heard of horrible abuses of the system, but in all honesty they had never been cruel, just impersonal. He didn't know whether it was some lack in the system or in himself that he had come out the other end... detached. He could flirt and fuck with the best of them - did - it was the only way he knew to connect, however transient it was.

It had never been a callous thing for him, but he truly remembered few of his conquests. For him sex had taken the place of a casual conversation in a queue, a smile on a train - pleasant while it lasted, memorable for a week and then forgotten. He had no middle ground, there were strangers and there were people he fucked - often one and the same. The niceties of social interaction were beyond him, however often he saw it in others he just couldn't seem to find that elusive sense of connection himself. When they'd eventually sent him out to find his independence the Time Agency had seemed like the perfect choice; they were always looking for field agents. It was a high risk job and the lack of family had made him an ideal candidate - less impact on the timeline.

He'd thought the Time Agency would be his home; they could give him a place to live, a structure to his life, colleagues and friends, a goal and meaning to an otherwise unexceptional existence. His enthusiasm had surprisingly lasted a few years, looking back he'd amazed himself with his naivete. He'd had the place to live and the routine, however risky it sometimes was, but he'd never made the friends he'd hoped for and the lofty ideals that had lured him in had proven to be nothing but a sugar-coating for the general populace. A lack of alternatives had kept him part of the Agency even with his growing disenchantment right up to the point where his memories ended. That had been the final straw; the only thing he could truly call his own had been his memories and they had taken them. It was a betrayal on a level far too personal to be countenanced. He'd left and done his level best to screw them over on the way out, he only wished he'd done it sooner.

That had been the story of his life, short and uninspiringly petty, then he'd met Rose and the Doctor... He really hadn't known what to make of them at first; Rose had been, well, easy - easy to understand, easy to please, easy to be with and he could have gone on his merry way, but Rose had led him to the Doctor and proven she wasn't quite as easy as he'd first assumed. The Doctor... the Doctor was far from easy; he hadn't been thrown as Rose had been nor was he as easily charmed, yet he hadn't taken that instant dislike that seemed to be the usual alternative. On better acquaintance, the mystery had only deepened; he took Jack's flirting in stride, responded even, but he held his cards close. Jack honestly couldn't guess if the man was even tempted and what had been pure habit on Jack's part had gained an honesty he wasn't sure he was prepared to face just yet.

Actions speak louder than words or so the saying went and Jack had fallen back on that as his only gauge. The Doctor had invited him in, trusted him - lots of people trusted Jack, but few did so with that weighing look that said even though the man could know next to nothing about Jack, it was nevertheless an informed choice. Suddenly, bafflingly Jack had found himself incapable of betraying that trust and in return had found the home and the friends he'd long ago abandoned the dream of. He'd have given up a lot more if he'd known it was even a possibility.

Despite that it had led to his frankly untimely end, Jack was inordinately proud of his actions that last day - not his foolish, heroic death, but the kisses, both of them. Chaste, yet they'd been more intimate that any other act he'd performed - he'd meant them with all his heart and it might have been backwards, but it made sense to him. He suspected Rose and the Doctor understood it too, understood him better than he understood himself sometimes, unnerving as it could be. Even now he wouldn't swap his memories of them for his two missing years or even his life. He'd rather go out like this, knowing that he'd be missed and mourned not for what he'd done but for himself, Jack Harkness, than keep his life at their cost.

Footsteps interrupted his meandering introspection and Jack drew himself even tighter; he'd heard them before, several times, and he'd searched, but this floor was empty save for the dead, sealed off from the lower levels that were slowly venting into space. It was his mind playing tricks, or his heart, made no difference; a trick was a trick and as a trickster he knew far better than to trust them whoever the author. Jack closed his eyes against the dim light and waited for the sounds to fade to nothing once more.

The heavy warmth falling down around his shoulders made him flinch, but he didn't dare open his eyes, too afraid it would be an hallucination. The rustle of clothing told him someone had sat down at his side, but he didn't react, he might be losing his mind, but he'd be damned if he let it show. Stealthily Jack inhaled - warmth, leather and a familiar scent, like ancient forests in spring, contradictory and oh so comforting. He felt the tears well again and blamed it on the exhaustion. "You came back," a hoarse whisper was all he could manage.

"Yes, well, we were hardly going to leave you here."

It was the wrong voice and Jack's eyes snapped open.

"Sorry it took so long, the old girl's a bit twitchy at the moment. Can't blame her, but I really thought we'd be within a few hours of leaving," the stranger chattered on, seemingly oblivious as Jack stared. He recognised the sweater and jeans, even the battered Doc Marten's, but not the face.

The stranger fell silent, obviously expecting some kind of response, but for once Jack had no idea what to say. He took another breath, but all he could smell was that familiar old-young scent. He played back the other's words and though voice and accent were different there was a... familiarity to the rapid speech, the pattern of a mouth trying to keep up with a too-fast mind.

Jack tried to remember the Time Lord myths, but his mind was curiously blank - maybe he really was freezing to death and in his delirium he'd conjured this not-quite-right figure, but...

A shift drew his attention back to the other man and he saw the gleam of comprehension light the dark eyes. Slender hands cupped his face delicately, a very familiar action after days with nothing but memory for company. Soft lips, a chaste kiss and an achingly familiar taste.

Jack was too stunned to respond as he wanted to only seconds after they parted; he'd heard stories, but he'd never really believed. "Doctor?"

A nod.

"How?"

"Did your myths never mention regeneration?"

Jack shook his head dumbly; immortality was a common attribute in myths and discounted as a matter of course, the how of it rarely entered into it. With another shake of his head he discarded the puzzling thoughts and turned his brain to the practicalities, it was all he could cope with on top of his unexpected rescue. It was easier to simply accept the impossible.

The Doctor stood and extended a hand which Jack took and was hauled to his feet - he remembered that casual and unexpected strength, another point in this stranger's favour. An arm wrapped around his waist, careful not to dislodge the jacket as Jack's stiff limbs protested the movement. He let the Doctor guide him and it became easier soon enough to try his voice again. "How long?"

A flickering glance at his face, but no request for clarification, "Half an hour I think, bits are a little vague, but an hour at most."

Jack blinked, surprised all over again that the Doctor could change so quickly and completely in so short a time - although it explained the too-big clothes. It almost eclipsed the gratitude he felt that they had returned as quickly as they could, his faith justified. "Rose?" It only occurred to him as he voiced the eager question that the answer might not be a good one. After all, he was sure the Doctor wouldn't change so dramatically for no reason and Jack had been dead.

"I put her to bed," the relief made Jack's knees tremble and threaten to give out and he felt the supporting arm tighten briefly. "She's alright," the Doctor reassured, "Just a bit wobbly - exhausted herself really." Jack thought he might know how she felt.

"Ah, here we are." Looking up, the familiar outline of the TARDIS made Jack swallow hard against the well of emotion. The Doctor was busily digging in a pocket for the key when he paused, head coming up, an oddly distant expression on the new face. "Oh, that's a bit... oh dear." Jack turned to look and saw a golden glow for a moment eclipsing the more common brown before it dissolved into an unfocused look.

Stiff as he was, Jack only just managed to catch the Doctor as he crumpled and succeeded mostly in nearly falling on top of him, which under other circumstances might have been fun. The Doctor felt strangely light in his arms, but then he was comparing him to a fantasy featuring a body much taller and broader than it now was. Jack shifted his grip, cradling the man closer, and the Doctor's head lolled against his shoulder. Jack turned his head and breathed in; soft chestnut hair tickled his nose and he actually felt himself smile, dry lips cracking painfully. It would take some getting used to this new version of the Doctor, but he thought he could manage if he was given the chance.

A little careful manoeuvring and he had the TARDIS key; the door swung open obediently and stepping through it felt like coming home. The lights were no brighter than those in the station, but they had a warmth Satellite 5 lacked. The soft hum of the ship idling was strangely comforting and it was probably his overtired, overstressed brain that made it sound almost satisfied.

A quick glance around revealed an antique chaise in rich, dark colours, out of place yet strangely fitting. With a smile for the TARDIS' accommodating nature, Jack made his way towards it, his steps getting progressively quicker as his strength waned. The Doctor might be smaller in this new incarnation, but he was still a full-grown man. Once he had the Doctor settled comfortably Jack sagged onto the edge of the seat. His body, numb for so long, soaked in the warmth, the light and sound and _life_ of this most unusual home. He watched the doors swing shut silently; they were sealed in and safe and it felt so very good.

"Thanks old girl," he murmured softly and wasn't sure if the soft pulse of light was his own imagination or not. He surprised himself with a yawn, he honestly hadn't realised how tired he had become; he hadn't dared take more than catnaps on the station, but now... Jack glanced over at the sleeping Time Lord, watching the near-hypnotic rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, finding his own slip into sync. If Rose had already crashed then the Doctor must have pushed himself beyond his own limits to retrieve Jack and ensure he was safe. He'd seen that possessiveness between the Doctor and Rose, but he'd never had it directed at him before - it was a belonging that gave more than it demanded and he thought he could learn to appreciate it. It had warmed him in places he hadn't even suspected he had.

Jack let his hand come to rest on a denim-clad thigh, faint warmth radiated welcomingly and he smiled. He hadn't the energy to drag himself to his own room, not when there was a perfectly good option right here. A little bit of manoeuvring and he was sliding in behind the Doctor, feeling the simple animal comfort of another warm body next to his. It was instinct that wrapped his arms around the Doctor, tugging him closer. Normally this kind of setup involved sex, but for once Jack didn't even consider it. He buried his face in the soft hair and just breathed. The body was slightly cooler than he was used to and the double beat was definitely odd, but it was the Doctor, still the same in all the ways that mattered. Jack closed his eyes and finally let himself relax - he was home at last.

FIN


End file.
